


Clouded

by whatacartouchebag



Series: Fair Game Weekend 2020 [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, fairgameweekend2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Day One Challenge - OutfitsClover settled fingers idly across a bandage, already feeling the warmth underneath as he watched it lightly. He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever been bitten by one of them, even as a cadet.Centinels, despite being dull and weak on their own, were still dangerous in many other ways.***A Reason sidestory.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Weekend 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951708
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Clouded

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off! Part one of the Fair Game Weekend and today is all about outfits. In a rather blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of way, but as soon as I got the prompt, the image of Clover all bundled up in a certain someone's cloak bit me and wouldn't leave, so here we are.
> 
> As a pretty major aside, this is also a side story to [And The Reason Comes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21970195/chapters/52426102) It nestles somewhere in the days between chapters 29 and 30, but can be read independently of that fic as nothing gets referenced, nor are there any sort of spoilers.
> 
> If to change is what you need  
> You can change right next to me  
> When you're high, I'll take the lows  
> You can ebb and I can flow  
> ~ Grow As We Go, Ben Platt

The gentle hum of the engine was soothing to his senses as he stirred from his sleep. It was warm where he lay, leaning heavily against the robotic driver of the truck, and it was almost enough to keep him firmly lingering on the edge of slumber.

Clover couldn't even remember when he'd drifted off, only that he'd dreamed of a vast blue sky, and an endless roll of clouds. If he wanted to, he could very nearly let himself slip back under and return to that same sky that called to him, and the breath of a sigh slipped from him.

At his temple, there was movement, and he allowed green eyes to sliver open, blinking heavily at the sudden intrusion of light about him. He soon realised that what he lay against was no AK at all, and instead was the curve of a warm shoulder that shifted; the owner noticing he was awake.

The brunet made to reach up and rub sleepily at his eyes, and found his movement hindered by the blanket draped across him. His brow pinched slightly as he glanced down; no, not a blanket, it was-

“Hey there.”

The soft brush of that voice at his hair had him lifting his eyes to the huntsman at his side, and the penny finally dropped into place. He must've drifted off on Qrow's shoulder as they were driven back from the mines, and he relaxed against him once more with a tired groan. It earned him a gentle laugh that smoothed across his senses, and he felt the arm about his shoulders squeeze lightly.

“You crashed pretty hard,” came the soft continuation. A beat of time, and if Clover had been a little more awake, he would've registered it a little quicker. Noticed the delicate shift in his tone. “How're you feeling?”

The brunet managed to snake a hand up from underneath the cloak that lay across him like a shroud, and scrubbed lightly at his eyes, pushing the tiredness away and willing himself to wake up a little more. Gods above, but he was so damn groggy. It felt like he'd overslept by half a day, and not-

His hand stilled across his eyes, and dawning realisation came with the soft snatch of memories; his mind finally grasping them between the haze.

He drew his hand faintly away, focusing on his palm. Which was... strangely bare from a missing glove. He let green eyes slip down to the rest of his forearm, where light bandaging lay along the length of his arm from wrist to elbow. Brows knit faintly, and he sat a little further upright, the red cloak slipping down to pool in his lap.

Clover snatched at the scattered memories like falling sand, and he barely felt the way the arm about his shoulders slipped back a little, fingertips settling at the nape of his neck as he waded through his recollection of the events.

He remembered the skirmish in the snow at the edge of the mines. Centinels. It was...

He swallowed. There were suddenly _so many_ of them around them both...

“Fine,” he rasped finally, curling fingers into a loose fist. Something in his arm throbbed gently, and he immediately let fingers go lax with a faint hiss. That... shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Green eyes blinked a little, and he let his free hand drift to the bandage, lightly brushing across it as his mind furiously tried to piece it all together.

The sigh threaded into the air next to him as Qrow watched him jump through the mental hurdles, unable to keep the faint curl of a smile from his lips. His thumb brushed gently at the back of the man's neck, and the thought struck him quietly, concern suddenly lacing through him.

“Do you... remember what happened?”

Those green eyes turned to meet his own, and Clover couldn't help the faint trace of confusion that still sat upon his brow. He blinked at the huntsman for a moment, letting his hands fall to his lap and allowing his gaze to drift away.

“I remember the fight,” he began simply, his mind methodically stepping through each of the events as they happened. His brow furrowed in thought. “The... the Centinels near Aurora Pass. There was one you missed-”

“I didn't _miss it_ _,”_ Qrow interjected with a faint snort.

The brunet glanced pointedly back at him. “It snuck up on you.”

Qrow resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and he turned his vague pout towards the windscreen; plonking his elbow on the door frame and letting his cheek rest on a fist. Clover could only allow the whisper of a smile to grace his lips, knowing he remembered  _that_ part clear enough. Still...

“It nearly got you,” he continued softly, and he saw the way those red eyes flicked to the console of the truck, the huntsman's own record of the events playing behind them. “And I took the hit instead.”

His fingers curled lightly upon the cloak, gathering soft fabric and he nearly regretted putting a voice to his words. It would be moot to press the issue any further when they both understood why.

They both  _knew_ at this point.

It didn't matter who's fortune favoured the moment; it would forever be a coin flip to both of them. And neither of them would ever let the other wallow in how it landed.

Clover brought his gaze back to the seemingly endless stretch of white beyond the glass, and the sigh traced from him; the sound as weary as he still felt as he reclined against his seat. His brow pinched again, and lips parted once more.

“Upon envenomation, intense pain, redness and swelling occur immediately,” he recited from dreary memory, and he vaguely caught the way those red eyes turned to him once more. “Other symptoms include fever, chills, nausea, and heart palpitations, with more severe reactions being anaphylaxis, and hallucinations.”

Silence blanketed the end of his words, and he glanced back to meet that faintly surprised gaze, watching the way red eyes flit between his, caught at his summation. Clover could only offer him a faint and humourless smile, knowing it was all clinical response and something drummed into him since he joined the military.

Centinels, despite being dull and weak on their own, were still dangerous in many other ways.

“Hurt like a bitch and I'm so _incredibly_ glad I didn't throw up on you when you dragged me out of there,” he finished succinctly, and it tore the snort of laughter from the huntsman. Qrow had to turn away from him, pressing the back of his fist to his mouth to suppress some of his laughter, and Clover joined him gently in it. It was good to hear it, even if some of that ache would always linger.

They both knew, and all they could do was press onward regardless.

He let fingertips unfurl and idly trace upon red fabric, feeling softness from years of wear and use, and the smile settled gently upon his expression. He knew it was no simple thing for the huntsman to part with his belongings; especially those he was rather attached to.

Yet he never found any hesitation in the way Qrow would always willingly give him the shirt off his back.

Or, well,  _cloak_ in this case.

“I think that makes two of us,” the huntsman told him with a gentle tapering of his laughter. “Gotta admit, you cut a pretty pitiful sight out there.”

It was Clover's turn to snort lightly, and he turned his smile back up to him, glad for the simple banter to help cut through the haze. Something he  _knew_ was his own fault, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat; something they were  _both_ guilty of, he supposed, and his smile hitched faintly.

“Hey, you try to remain standing and lucid while your body wants to drop to the ground like a stone from poison,” he replied with a huff of amusement. And it only took a handful of time, and dark brows raising pointedly in his direction as the huntsman gestured lightly to himself, for the penny to drop. The laughter spilled from him as he realised what it was he'd said, and he raised his good hand in simple defence.

“Alright, point taken.”

A beat of time passed between them, and Clover settled fingers idly across a bandage, already feeling the warmth underneath as he watched it lightly. He couldn't recall a time when he'd  _ever_ been bitten by one of them, even as a cadet. Even  _before_ his semblance; something he'd even recounted to the huntsman himself.

“Guessing I didn't get any of the more severe reactions? Considering I'm here and not on a Manta,” he asked, willing fingertips not to rub at skin. Qrow felt his brow raise at the question, and it brought back the simple concern; did he... really not remember it?

Still, he huffed in amusement at the operative. “Not unless you count stumbling over your own two feet severe,” he told him, glancing back out to the monotonous white of the tundra, and the ironic smirk found his lips. “Kinda reminded me of  _me_ on a bad day.” The words slipped from him without much thought, and he realised in hindsight that they didn't grip at him as they once did. They didn't sit in his stomach with a resounding shame, and his smile could only grow, however faint, and he allowed red eyes to focus once more on the vast sea of white and grey before him.

They were lucky it hadn't started to snow on them earlier at the mines, but now, as red eyes glanced upwards to the darkening skyline they approached, he wondered if their luck was about to run short once more.

He hesitated for a moment, letting his gaze flit back to the road, and he held onto the thought that sat upon his tongue.

Qrow was so caught in his idle thoughts that he never saw the way those green eyes watched him step through the subtle motions. He'd done it completely without realising it, and the operative could only let the sound of amusement settle on his tongue.

The huntsman had artfully slipped past the answer without even acknowledging it. Clover simply allowed the whisper of a smile to grace his lips as he followed that red gaze, knowing he'd eventually read the field report, and he left it quite simply at that.

Something had happened, that much he would wager on.

There was no reason for the huntsman to be so quietly cagey about the topic otherwise. And they weren't headed back to Atlas on a Manta, which meant he'd been lucky once more. Green eyes narrowed faintly, flicking down to the console, and he tried to ignore the faint draw of bitterness upon his tongue.

Lucky indeed.

It was pushed firmly aside when the shiver ran along his spine, and he actually took stock of how cool he felt, letting hands slip up along his arms to keep them warmer. Qrow  _did_ glance back at him then, and he allowed the smile to settle faintly on his expression. Without a word, one hand reached for gathered fabric on the man's lap, as he threaded the other about his shoulders once more, pulling him closer to his side.

Clover took the subtle hint, and he settled himself further against that wonderful source of warmth as hands gently pulled the cloak about him once more, tucking it all the way up to his chin. The sigh threaded from him as he felt comfort start to seep into his bones, and he relaxed heavily against the huntsman, closing his eyes as the shining world of white and steel faded from view.

He still felt entirely too hazy from everything, and now he knew  _why_ , he reasoned with himself that sleeping it off for their return trip would probably be a good option. Something that felt all too easy to do, when the scent of fabric nestled about him lulled him further under, and the body at his side was so incredibly warm.

Now he knew how Qrow felt around him, he thought with a faint brush of a smile.

Fingers that had settled about his shoulder shifted lightly, and a thumb gave a brief stroke to bare skin swathed beneath a cloak.

“Your temperature spiked a bit... by the time we got back to the transport.”

The words stirred him a little, and green eyes slivered open.

He felt the distant note of tension in the huntsman's touch, and how fingertips traced idle, soothing circles where they sat. He knew Qrow was stepping through his words delicately, and to voice any sort of reply would unbalance him. Make him lose his place when all he could do was keep himself steady.

Clover felt his brow furrow lightly.

Something  _had_ happened.

“It was... kind of all there was for a while,” the words pressed on softly, and those red eyes continued to stare further out into the endless white. “Your aura was still fine, the bite had already been treated, and you'd already taken something to help with the nausea, so... that was that.”

There was a brief beat of time, and those fingers stilled upon skin.

“Least... until you mentioned how cold it was.” And the humourless laugh touched the huntsman's lips. “Don't think I've ever seen you _shiver_ like that before.”

Clover met the sound with a gentle one of his own, and for a moment, despite Qrow's words, it was enough to still the growing bead of concern that had settled in his stomach. For a brief moment, it was just the two of them relaxing against one another, and not recounting something that seemed all but forgotten to one of them.

_That_ still concerned Clover the most.

“And it was all the warning we had before you dropped like a stone.”

Said with all the casual air of someone conceding a friendly game of poker, and Clover felt himself still entirely as he was suddenly  _very_ awake. Green eyes blinked faintly, and he drew back from that gentle embrace to meet those red eyes in deepening surprise.

He  _hadn't_ been dreaming earlier, he realised with sobering clarity.

When he'd seen the vast blue sky above, and that endless roll of clouds, it had been with the last snatches of his sight before he fell to the snow.

Gods, but he could see it so  _clearly_ now, and his eyes flicked between red, the silent yet heavy question on parted lips. They stared evenly back at him, guilt tinting their depths before they glanced away, focusing on the floor as the brush of a sigh slipped from him, long and low.

The brunet saw the way shame traced across the barest edges of his expression, and just like that, he knew.

They both  _knew_ .

He shifted an arm under the cloak, bringing bare fingers down to a clothed thigh and resting there gently. Qrow's lips pulled faintly at the corners in a ghost of appreciation.

He knew, and the huntsman threaded his free hand atop it, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Luckily... the medic on-site knew enough about Centinel bites to react pretty quickly,” he continued quietly, even as the trace of a smile began to thread through him. “Said that the, ah... _fainting_ is a rare thing; only really happens if your body isn't used to the venom.”

The soft and sudden laugh fell from him, and the warmer smile actually lingered on his expression, shattering through the guilt that he wore like a shroud.

“So for once, your stupid dumb luck actually worked _against_ you.”

The flush of colour crawled to the operative's neck at the bright words, and he couldn't quite stop the embarrassment that ticked through him at them. Oh, but he instantly regretted ever telling him that story now. It still couldn't stop the wry smile from making its way across his lips, curling at the corners as the huntsman's own mirth brought the soft breath of a laugh to him.

Well... if that's all it was, then it was a relief, but...

He shook his head lightly as the sigh wound from him, and he let himself settle back onto the curve of a shoulder, as that arm drew further about him once more. There was a brief press of lips to his hair, and he closed his eyes at the contact, warmth of a different kind tracing through him as Qrow settled his cheek to softness.

“Only _you_ would phrase it that way...” he breathed, letting his thumb brush idly against a thigh. There was a short hum of amusement into brunet strands, and Clover felt fingers trace idle circles atop a cloaked shoulder. It was a simple rhythmic pull to his senses, and for a moment, there was only the gentle hum of the engine beneath them, and the feeling of warmth pressed to skin and hair.

It lulled him softly further towards slumber, and for a time, it was enough, and he teetered blissfully on the edge.

Qrow was content to let his eyes close, feeling the distant call of slumber now that he knew his quarry was on the road to recovery. Quite literally, and the wry thought drew the faint quirk to his lips. He'd been lucky, after all.

Even if it was what got him into the damn situation in the first place, and he refused to release the faint snort at the notion.

He'd long since had many conversations with the man on the topic of luck, and the consequences would always be the same to them. It was something meant to be pushed. It was something both blessed and cursed in their lives, and, occasionally, switched about for the blatant amusement of the gods themselves.

If they couldn't laugh about it, then there was something drastic missing from their lives.

“But...”

The slip of breath from Clover had him slivering red eyes open once more, and he blinked sluggishly at the world of white.

“I'm sorry for worrying you.”

The words came without preamble, and dark brows pinched faintly. The huntsman gave a gentle squeeze to a shoulder, and he turned to press lips deep into brunet hair once more.

“Hey, none of that.”

It was Clover's turn to sliver eyes open, and the slight crease of confusion found his brow. Lips parted to reply, when there was a gentle breath of amusement against hair.

“I mean... I'll take it because you spooked the hell out of me, but I'm still a little insulted.”

Clover  _knew_ there better be more coming to  _that_ particular phrase, and he simply let the words still on his tongue, waiting him out a little as the smile lingered on his expression.

“Despite appearances, I actually _know_ a thing or two about Centinels,” he began softly, earning the soft snort from the brunet. “ _And_ I know just about enough to realise when someone's in real danger. And you weren't. Not really.” Fingers lifted from the curve of his shoulder, and they nestled into short hair, stroking in delicate little circles. It was altogether far too soothing and entirely too distracting when the huntsman was supposed to be making a point.

“They might be big, but anyone with a decent enough aura can ward off the effects of the venom,” he continued, listing off his words, just as Clover had done earlier. Even if the danger had passed, even if the worry was still thinly buried, the words helped assuage both their fears that once again, luck was a delicate tightrope act between the two of them.

Once again, luck was a blessing and a curse.

Brows furrowed lightly at the thought as it lingered, and green eyes could only stare distantly at the console of the truck as it trickled through him. He held onto the sigh that wanted to sit upon his tongue, and after a moment, Clover closed his eyes where he lay against a shoulder, allowing some of the tension to thread from him.

He knew, however slight his injury, and however great his knowledge, Qrow had been  _worried_ .

“You just got a little... _too_ lucky this time,” the words came with a breath of a laugh. “If there _is_ such a thing.”

Clover could only match the gentle laugh with one of his own, and fingers gave a gentle squeeze from where they still lay upon a thigh, tracing the pad of a thumb across pants.  
“No... I think I've got just the  _right_ amount of luck I need in my life...” he murmured, and he felt the way those fingers first slowed to a gentle halt within his hair, and the rest of him followed suit, stilling at his side. Felt the way that warmth beneath where he rested his cheek seemed to grow, ever so slight, and he could only smile softly to himself. It never failed to pull the gentle amusement from him with the way such a simple compliment would always delicately fluster the huntsman.

And one day, the surprise at hearing those words would ebb, and he'd believe them. Believe himself worthy of them without letting doubt find him first.

Until then, all he would ever do was gently remind him of that fact himself time and time again.

“Besides...” he continued softly, feeling the edges of sleep tinting his words. “Least now I know if I ever need it, there'll be someone to swoop in and save me.”

There was a brush of silence at his words, and for a moment, he thought he'd caught him out again by saying something so softly jarring to the huntsman.

At least, that was, until the faint snort met his ears, and Qrow nestled his cheek further against short brunet hair.

“Yeah, now I know you're fine if you're making _bird_ jokes...” the breath of a grumble warmed his scalp and Clover could only smile at the soft accusation. He gave a gentle hum at the words, and fingertips traced idle circles where they lay.

“Would I do that?”

Utterly innocent and entirely truthful in every sense of the words, and Qrow damn well knew they were anything  _but._

“You would anyway, you brat...” the retort came swift and gentle, falling easily between them, even if it held no venom. The huntsman knew there was a mischievous streak a mile wide within the man, and not even all his years of hardened military training could ever hope to quell it. Especially when it came to sharing what were supposed to be quiet, simple moments together.

No, that was when he was the  _worst_ .

Clover could only laugh gently at him. “I would anyway.”


End file.
